Transcript / “One Mo’ Thang,” Episode 17, written by Vicki Solá.
All content © 2021 Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy.
Music/Intro: Hi there, I’m author and radio host Vicki Solá, welcoming you to Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy. I invite you to escape with me into the bizarre dimension of Perswayssick County, where wackiness rules! The laughs begin when I morph into my alter ego, radio DJ Nicki Rodriguez and clash with the zany, alien canine-humanoid Gneeecey!
And now, I turn it over to my other self, Nicki….
SFX: [Magic Spell]
Hey there, Nicki Rodriguez here! Another memory has just resurfaced, and I’m looking forward to sharing it with you! First, my alter ego Vicki and I want to thank Marysol Rodriguez, Sal Solá, Sandi Solá, Marcellina Ramirez, Rick “El Molestoso” Rivera, Diane L., and Toni Aponte for being generous supporting members through BuyMeACoffee.com!
Now, I had shrunk to the size of a matchstick due to extreme dimension burn caused by my mostly accidental travels between Earth and Gneeecey’s wacky world. And I soon found myself living inside walking, talking Jack Russell lookalike Gneeecey’s T-shirt pocket—not a real pleasant place to be. As I’ve mentioned before, dimension burn has been playing havoc with my memory, so I’m remembering things in bits and pieces—not really in any order. Here’s what happened one morning. SFX: [Magic Spell]
SFX: [Slot Clunk] Gneeecey couldn’t stop playing with the clip-on light that illuminated my new home—his debris-filled T-shirt pocket. He kept clicking the cheap device on and off as he addressed his double, Ebegneeezer Gesundheit Eeeceygnay. The nasty, much more sophisticated canine-humanoid had unintentionally transferred himself from his Planet HyenaZitania to Perswayssick County as Gneeecey and I had attempted to escape his evil clutches. Much to Gneeecey’s disdain, the snooty, more sophisticated Ebegneeezer was staying with us until he could find a way to return to the double-sunned planet he ruled.
“You’re gonna stay in this here lousy house, outta stinkin’ sight, while I go out an’ take care of some business!” Gneeecey warned his unwelcome houseguest.
Ebegneeezer cleared his throat. “Possibly…then again, possibly not.”
“Ya do anythin’ to make me maaad, like tryin’ to go down to the courthouse or bank an’ make anyone think you’re meee, I jus’ might not help ya get back to your dopey Planet HynieZits.”
Crickets.
Until Gneeecey belched. SFX: [Belch] “Stinkin’ well? Wha’cha gotta say?”
“We shall see. Indeed, we shall see.”
Grunting, Gneeecey switched my lamp back on. SFX: [Slot Clunk] And I noticed that the spindly green spider that shared my quarters—the one I’d seen the night before—had reappeared. Spotting me, it appeared to grin. My legs began to buckle as my life flashed before me.
That moment, one of those commuter jet-like insects that plagued Perswayssick County—bugs that had mutated as a natural defense to appear to be high-flying planes—swooped into our midst. SFX: [Insect Flies] What would just be a pesky mosquito-like bite for a normal-sized human could prove fatal for someone my size. My eyes darted about in search of any nearby object I might use to protect myself. Only saw a cracked and obviously used wooden toothpick. Palms perspiring, I grabbed it.
Before I could take aim, the buzzing aircraft, pincer pointed, attacked the arachnid, wiping the smirk off its face. A ferocious battle ensued as the tiny Lear jet attempted to skewer the creepy-crawly but was held at bay by its eight gangly legs. With glassy peepers that resembled a cockpit, the plane suddenly zoomed my way, ready to puncture me. I ducked, just in time.
“Ow, stinkin’ ow!” bellowed Gneeecey. “Somethin’ jus’ stabbed my lousy chest! Oh no, now I’m itchin’! Proboobably one of them dopey airplanes! I’ll show it!” He punched his pocket, thankfully missing me but crumpling the nasty little flying machine. SFX: [Squash]
Violet fluid gushed from its fuselage and sprayed all over.
Proboscis still intact, the bleeding jet sputtered toward the unsuspecting spider, who had let its guard down, and impaled its abdomen. The mortally wounded eight-legger squirmed as it let forth an unearthly, prolonged shriek. SFX: [Creature Shrill Shriek] Vivid green gunk spurted out in all directions.
Hyperventilating, I managed to escape the gaudy bloodbath, scrambling on rubber legs into an open envelope. SFX: [Rustling Papers] I collapsed into a heap, stung by a deep gash on my right forearm.
SFX: [Magic Spell]
I awakened with a start. For a good minute, I had no idea where I was…or what time it was…but then it all rushed back…including the sharp pain in my arm. I groaned. I was still in Gneeecey’s T-shirt pocket…inside an envelope. His dollar store light shone through, illuminating the white paper, splattered with my blood and the garish fluids splashed about by the insects that had battled each other earlier. Craning my sore neck, I saw a giant olive rectangle, possibly currency, covering the entire surface behind me. Couldn’t make out any details.
“Let’s go into The Grate Room, Ebooboogoogoo,” snarled Gneeecey, each of his ground-pounding steps rattling my brain.
“That is Ebegneeezer, old chap,” replied Gneeecey’s lookalike. “Ebegneeezer Gesundheit Eeeceygnay. And, affirmative, your parlor hopefully is not as…uh…unsavory…as that scandalously nauseating room that you have the audacity to call a kitchen.”
“Ya callin’ my stinkin’ kitchen disgustipatin’? I’ll have ya know—”
SFX: [Door Knock] A thunderous knock on what was most likely one of the mansion’s double front doors interrupted Gneeecey, nearly causing me to jump out of my skin. “Yooou stinkin’ go over there, Ebooboogoogoo. An’ jus’ stinkin’ siddown.”
“I have already informed you, you blithering fool, the name is Ebegneeezer, and if anyone is stinking, it would most likely be you.”
“Stinkin’ whatever.”
The door creaked open. SFX: [Door Open] [Scary Ambience]
“M-M-Mark,” stuttered Gneeecey, “w-w-whaaat are yooou doin’ here? I thought youse guys were gone!”
It was Blond Big-nosed Mark, an especially vicious Markman. I, too, had believed that he and his band of evil alien gangsters (all named Mark, except for their cranky leader Bob) had been defeated during my first unwitting visit to Perswayssick County. They often appeared as creepy-colored floating eyeballs. Their bodies were only visible when they slathered the county’s mucky, toxic mierk all over themselves. (Lucky for them, many novelty shops on Murgatroyd Avenue sold wigs and fake teeth at discount prices.) The ruthless extraterrestrials had destroyed their own planet, Planet of the Marked Men. Looking for a new home, they had invaded Gneeecey’s dimension. Almost sounded like the plot of a bad sci-fi movie. But it was real. A sharp twinge stabbed my stomach, doubling me over. If I didn’t have an ulcer before…I did now.
“An’ how did ya get in?” demanded Gneeecey. “I didn’t open the lousy door!”
“Wasn’t locked,” replied the Markman. “Ya got my message, hah, Doc Greaseball? Dat I was comin’ to see ya?”
“Heh, heh…that’s Diroctor Gneeecey…I’m a dopey doctor an’ director of this here Perswayssick County. An’ nah, I didn’t get no message sayin’ you were comin’ to visit…jus’ talked to one of youse yesterday…I heard on good authority that youse guys were, y’know, real busy, y’know, colonizin’ your new plaaanet….”
“I may have possibly neglected to deliver the entire communication, uh, Diroctor,” began Ebegneeezer. “Your hissy fit during your misadventure in the loo this morning when your Electronic Water Cyclone 3000 wouldn’t flush properly, was rather intense. And rather amusing, I might add.” I detected an uncharacteristic tremble in his voice.
“Who dat?” demanded Mark.
“W-why, Jerko,” started Ebegneeezer, his larynx still malfunctioning, “we certainly do have some matters to resolve, my dear, double-crossing former bodyguard….”
“Ain’t yer Jerko, ya jerk. An’ I awready asked ya, Doc, who’s dis here wise guy. Ain’t never seen him before. He looks kinda like you.”
“Heh, heh, I wouldn’t go that stinkin’ far. He’s my…uh…lessee …who is he, again? Oh, yeah, he’s my cousin…yeah, my lousy long-lost cousin Eboobooboogoogoo…an’ he’s jus’ visitin’. An’ this loser’s about to get lost again, real soon. ’Specially if he keeps leavin’ doors unlocked an’ not deliverin’ my messages propooperly! An’, ya can put away that pistol of yours.”
“Ya still owe Bob an’ us guys some big bucks, don’cha?”
“Heh…heh…yeah…stinkin’ proboobably.” From inside his pocket, I felt Gneeecey shaking like a leaf.
“We’re all still here. We jus’, y’know, regrouped. An’ we ain’t goin’ nowheres till we get what we want. We always get what we want. An’ even after we do, we still might not go nowhere. Your stupid Perswayssick County here’s perfect for, y’know, our needs.”
“Heh…heh…tell Bob I say hi, an’ I’ll pay youse guys a visit. Real, real soon.”
“Oh, an’ speakin’ of Bob, he told me to give you this little, uh, gift. Here.”
“A miniature belchball! Jus’ like we use in real games!” Belchball was a sport, popular in Gneeecey’s quadrant of the universe. Players would charge through a line of tacklers and toss a wooden bat over their adversaries’ goal post, then attempt running eight bases placed helter-skelter across the field, then try to roll a heavy black ball—a belchball—into their own team’s net. Burps and belches counted as extra field goals. “Tell Bob I said thanks!”
“Yeah. Whatever.”
“See ya soon, okay, Mark?”
“Uh-huh, Doc.”
Gneeecey exhaled audibly. So did I.
“One mo’ thang. Almost forgot.”
Gneeecey’s shrill tone rose several octaves. “Yeah?”
“Bob says ya gotta give us a down payment. Now. Ain’t leavin’ till ya do.”
“Heh…heh…uh, got this here lousy thousand-dollar bill.” Gneeecey plunged his fist down into my living space. “In a envelope here in my pocket.”
Adrenaline blazed new pathways through my veins as Gneeecey grabbed the envelope containing… me…and handed it over to…Blond Big-nosed Mark.
I peered out through the opening. If I jumped, I’d crash down to the tiles…the equivalent of a normal-sized person falling from a skyscraper…That would most certainly be the end of me. I flopped backward, to safety…if you could call it that.
“Tanks,” said Mark. “An’ what’s dat all over da envelope? Looks kinda like blood. Gonna be a whole lot more of dat if ya don’t come up wit’ da resta what’cha owe us. Ya promised when we paid ya off dat the election would go our way—y’know, dat lousy Referendum 345 bannin’ mierk would be defeated. Well, ya didn’t exactly deliver, did ya?” My head spun as the beefy creep stuffed the envelope into what I imagined to be the inner pocket of the too-tight gray silk suit jacket that he always wore. I could see the light of his spiderweb-patterned necktie flashing. It lit up my surroundings every couple of seconds.
“Bye, for now, Doc. Hah, hah, hah.” Goosebumps—from a combination of fear and the frigid air outside—blanketed my skin.
“Guh-bye!” shrilled Gneeecey. He slammed his double doors shut with a bang. SFX: [Door Slam] [Fail Horn] SFX: [Magic Spell]
Well, after the resurfacing of that beyond-disturbing memory, I found myself once again visiting our therapist Ingabore Scriblig, who prefers to be called “Grandma.”
SFX: [Door Opens]
IS: Hallo, hallo, Nicki, how doodle you do?
N: Hi Grandma, thanks for seeing me on such short notice. This latest memory that resurfaced was really very disturbing and—
G: I’m here! Me! The Grate One! Heh hah, heh haah, heh haaah!
N: Uh, Diroctor, this is supposed to be my session—
IS: Yah, dis ees Nicki’s session—
G: Not no more! The early worm gets the bird!
IS: Vhat?
G: We have nuthin’ to fear but beer itself!
IS: Diroctor, I do not understand!
G: Don’t burn your bridges till ya go over ’em!
IS: Vhat?
G: Can I have my cake an’ eat it, too?
IS: Oh dear. I tink Diroctor Gneeecey ees suffering from a case of extreme platitudinitis because of vorsening Redecoritis!
G: Speak much, doooo little! An’ don’t bother to lock the horse’s mouth after the barn door escapes! Especially if it’s wearin’ a shower cap! Y’know, cleanliness is defoofinitely next to Goldilocks, but she didn’t count her dopey chickens before they learned to count. So, they were stooopid when they crossed the road to keep their lousy paaants up!
IS: I’d better call your neurologist, Doctor Idnas!
G: Stinkin’ nooo! She’ll hospoopitalize me!
SFX: [Phone Dialing] [Phone Rings]
DI: Hallo, Doctor Idnas speaking.
IS: Hallo, Doctor Idnas, dis ees Ingabore Scriblig, Diroctor Gneeecey’s terapist. I tink his Redecoritis ees vorsening.
DI: Vhy, hallo, Ingabore. I vould like to see him, den. I’m actually headed tovard your office—I can be dere in a few minutes—
G: I am sooo stinkin’ outta here! SFX: [Boing] [Duck Horn] Ow! My bimbus! I’ll never sit again! Why’s your lousy floor so high?! SFX: [Door Slam] [Fail Horn]
[Magic Spell]
Nicki Rodriguez here! So much for my session with Grandma! Anyway, thanks for listening to “Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy!” Please help us spread the word—tell a friend about us! Again, we thank Marysol Rodriguez, Sal Solá, Sandi Solá, Marcellina Ramirez, Rick “El Molestoso” Rivera, Diane L., and Toni Aponte for being generous supporting members through BuyMeACoffee.com!
Time now to turn it back over to my alter ego, Vicki. Until next time, be well and stay safe!
SFX: [Magic Spell]
Music/Outro: Thanks, Nicki! Vicki here again. Thanks so much for tuning in to “Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy.” We hope you enjoyed traveling to this loopy dimension with us and that you’ll come along again! Our new episodes drop every Tuesday morning! Please make sure to subscribe and tell a friend! And keep on laughing!
Frank: It’s a Gneeecey thing! [SFX: Door Slam] ###